Chapter 14
Vermeer had two guns thrust in his belt, and also a gun in his gloved hands. Mr. Blonde was being especially careful, wearing two gloves on each hand. Vermeer and Blonde were both crowd control, while Pink and White took care of the diamonds. That left Orange- far more worthy of being called Mr. Pink, Vermeer reckoned- to be lookout, while Mr. Brown sat in the getaway car and waited for the signal.
This is just another heist, he thought as he sat in the car, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Joe had left in his own car, arranging the other part of the heist. Eddie was gonna meet them at the warehouse with his dad. That left the six of them, or as Orange childishly put in, the Sinister Six, to start the robbery of the jewelry store.
They sat in the car, listening to Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" on the radio. By mutual agreement, the moment the song ended, they would head in. There was thirty seconds left on the song.
Vermeer wondered what the fuck these guys would be like when they were his age. Blonde would never live to see his fiftieth birthday, let alone his sixtieth. The guy was too wild, and while he was in his prime now, someday a younger psycho like him would kill him. Mr. White, by far the most competent of the five guys, Vermeer reckoned, was already in his late forties early fifties anyway. Orange and Brown, both in their twenties, wouldn't stand a fucking chance as criminals. Mr. Pink was the slyest one of them all and he'd probably live longer than even Mr. White. The guy knew his stuff.
Vermeer thought about this as the last bars of "Sledgehammer" faded away. Immediately, the guy on the radio took out the last ten seconds of the song and put on "Fast to Madness" by Blind Guardian. Vermeer had never heard of this band before, but they were the perfect alarm clock.
As though electrodes from the song had licked everyone in the car, they got out and headed for the store as fast as they could without running. Mr. Brown kept moving, seeking a spot to park the car on the other side of the street. It was a good thing he'd let them out on the far side of the store, because then any innocent bystander could have seen them getting out of the car.
Pushing the doors open with his gloved hands, Mr. Blonde roared out, "Everybody freeze!" Pulling out both guns, he waved them around in his arms, and Vermeer wouldn't have been surprised if the man started shooting. He too began pushing people down on the grounds. It was just a routine by now, he thought. He knew exactly what to do in this situation.
He noticed Mr. Blonde talking again, "Alright, you cunts. If anyone touches the alarm I'll shoot every mother fucking one of you." He looked as if he was waiting for someone to pull the alarm. Vermeer knew someone would; people were strange like that.
Meanwhile, while Blonde and Vermeer were taking care of the tellers and the customers, Orange was positioning himself by the doors, while White and Pink frog-marched the manager to the back. Vermeer began organizing the hostages in a line, making sure that they saw the other two guns at his waist.
One girl, a young black girl, stared in horror at them. They had sunglasses on, but it looked like the girl was memorizing their faces for when she reported them to the police.
Mr. Blonde noticed her too, "Hey, unless you want to suck me dry, put your head down and look at the floor." He wasn't yelling anymore. He sounded in control, like he was God with divine right. He certainly was the most powerful guy in this scene.
They'd been in for thirty seconds and already the people were cowed and on their knees. Blonde and Vermeer paced among their ranks, staring balefully at them through their sunglasses. Orange kept himself amused pointing his gun at people coming into the store.
Vermeer then counted the hostages again, just to be sure. He had seen about twenty people when he'd first walked in. There were twenty-two people on the floor. He looked at Blonde, "How many people were there?"
Blonde shrugged, "Check around for anyone else if you want, I've got these guys down." He sounded bored. He'd done this to the point of pure routine. Just like Vermeer, but he was half the older man's age. Vermeer almost felt jealous at this guy's professionalism.
One of the cashier guys called out, "You'll never get away with this, you fucking bastards! They'll have your descriptions in the paper by tomorrow!"
"Shut the motherfucker up!" Orange yelled from the entrance.
The black girl backed the brave guy up, "You boys won't beat the cops." She sounded angry, but Vermeer could sense a contempt that seemed purified in the moment. He would have almost felt embarrassed in the face of this integrity. He pointed his gun at her to shut her up, just as he noticed how great she looked despite her anger.
Blonde was less discreet, "Shut the fuck up you nigger." He said it calmly, but with a lot of threat in his voice.
If anything, she was even angrier that somebody would call her that. Vermeer felt his respect for Blonde lower; the insult wasn't necessary in his opinion.
The employee reddened, "Don't you dare say that to her you cocksucker!"
Vermeer groaned, even as Blonde stepped forward and broke the guy's nose.
Blonde looked around at Orange, "You see anything?" Orange shook his head.
He looked back to the hostages, but then suddenly the defiant one broke off from the others. He knew he had no chance getting to the counter, so he went right for one of the display cases. Vermeer suddenly felt panic. He didn't want to shoot his gun for fear of hitting the display case, but also because it would mean order was gone.
Blonde was less aware of those consequences. He fired his gun for the back of the guy's head. The display case suddenly turned opaque from the blood.
Several things seemed to happen at once then to Vermeer.
The black girl screamed in horror, as did many of the other hostages.
The man's body, still in movement at the time of death, landed on the floor in a meaty thud.
The black girl, motivated by vengeance and desperation, leaped for Vermeer.
In his astonishment, Vermeer was no match for the much younger woman. The gun he was holding was wrenched out his hand,
The young woman seemed to know that Blonde wouldn't care if Vermeer was killed. He'd kill her all the same. So she did what the two men feared most. She pointed the gun at the show cases and fired off several rounds.
Immediately, the alarm went off with a wail. Mr. Blonde cursed in anger, even as he emptied a load on the girl. She fell to the ground, dead before she fell.
Picking up the gun from where the girl had dropped it, Vermeer couldn't help but admire her courage. She had actually stood up to two guys with guns and had fucked everything up for them. That was definitely something. He felt sorry that she'd had to have been in the store.
Suddenly a series of shots rang out, startling Vermeer out of his thought. Looking up from the young woman's body, he saw that Blonde was shooting the other three clerks from the jewelry store with sadistic ease. Vermeer knew then that Mr. Blonde was out of control.
"What the fuck is going on here!" It was Mr. White. He and Mr. Pink had re-emerged, with Pink holding a satchel that Vermeer assumed was the diamonds.
Blonde looked up from his massacre, as though a group of vegetarians had caught him buying three T-bones. He truly didn't feel anything was wrong, except anger at being distracted.
Mr. Pink began running for the door, "Come on, let's get outta here!" He was followed by Mr. White. Mr. Orange was just standing there, staring in horror at Mr. Blonde.
Before they got to the door, however, a hail of bullets smashed the glass in the doors. Mr. Blonde automatically began firing back. Mr. White and Mr. Pink leapt out of the way just in time, screaming, "The cops!"
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Mr. Brown hadn't seen the cops. He'd seen something even more horrible.
Gallo had done his part and had parked on the other side of the street, ready to zoom over and pick them up.
But as he was parking the car, he noticed a car that seemed to stand out from the rest. It was a dark red Volvo 740 parked in front of the jewlry store.
Only the natural instincts of a good driver prevented Gallo from driving into another car in shock. He stared horrified at Alice's car. She was here? Now? Of all fucking times! Gallo's panic, always hidden and suppressed, came out with a full and hard-earned vengeance.
Gallo felt unable to breathe, slamming his hands down on the car's dashboard, the steering wheel, anything in his reach. He gave a shrill scream in his utter horror, and knew that he was doomed. Alice would never quietly obey common criminals. Her fucking uncle was a cop! She would want to report this to the police, and she would recognize them when she went with them on the plane.
Tears rolled down Gallo's cheeks as he blubbered away in the privacy of the car. What was he going to do? What was going to happen?
He began to compose himself: okay, it was bad, but maybe he could undo it. He could ask Joe to be separated from the other guys, so she'd never see them. She'd want to report it to the police so that meant they would have to leave later than planned.
That was when the alarm went off. Gallo was shocked out of his worry. What the fuck was going on? That wasn't supposed to happen!
Just as the alarm went off, he noticed several police cars, cleverly hidden a couple of blocks from the store.
Gallo knew then that they were going to ambush them. And Alice was in the middle of that! He had to get her out of there!
His mind made up, he drove out of the parking lot and spurred for the jewelry store.
That was when other cops, having hidden in unmarked cars, began shooting at the store.